Not Quite Ginger
by ladyoftheknightley
Summary: Angelina has been thinking. George says that that's always dangerous at the best of times, but now that she's pregnant, it's asking for trouble.


"I've been thinking..."

"Always dangerous."

"About this baby, I mean."

"Thinking? About the baby?! Oh, I wouldn't recommend that!" Angelina threw a pillow at George, who caught it and came to sit next to her on the bed. "Sorry, dear. What were you thinking?"

"Well, for one thing I was thinking that I would like to no longer be on bed rest," she sighed, and George winced sympathetically. "But mostly, I was thinking about what the baby's going to look like."

"What, a your eyes but my nose and hopefully not the milkman's chin sort of thing?" George asked.

Angelina swatted him. "More like a this baby isn't exactly going to look like a Weasley sort of thing," she said. "Not exactly ginger, am I?"

"Well, no," George allowed. "But Victoire is blonde, like Fleur, and she's still a Weasley."

She gave him a look. "Victoire's _white_, George. This one isn't going to be."

"That's not a big deal," George said. "There is _no one_ in my family who will care about the Quaffle's skin tone. Not a single person."

"But what if she feels like she doesn't belong?"

"She?"

"The Quaffle is going to be a girl," Angelina said firmly. "I just know it. And anyway, your brothers are two for two at the moment, with Victoire and Molly both being girls last time I checked..."

"That's because Fleur's got all that freaky Veela magic in her, and Percy never could do anything right," George said. "But ignoring that for a moment—I don't think there's any danger of the Quaffle feeling like it doesn't belong because the way it looks. Mum's always adopting people into the family—Harry and Hermione, way back before they were daft enough to marry my siblings; Tonks; the Lovegoods; Neville; Katie and Oliver; the Minister for Magic...I think even the shopkeepers in Ottery St Catchpole are honorary Weasleys at this point! It doesn't matter that they're not ginger, they're all still part of the family."

"I suppose," said Angelina, looking slightly more cheerful.

"And...well, there would be a slight bonus if the kid didn't exactly look like what people think of when they think of the Weasleys," George said, sounding slightly uncomfortable. "Our kids—I mean, the Quaffle, Victoire, Molly...any other children my brothers have—well, they're going to grow up in the spotlight a bit, aren't they?"

Angelina laughed drily. "Understatement of the century there..."

"Yes, well, if they look like a Weasley, they're bound to get lots of attention, aren't they? If they don't...well, it might help them a bit," he said. "They won't be as recognisable. I mean, think about what'll happen if Harry and Ginny have kids. The kids'll either inherit Ginny's red hair and all the rest of it, and look like a Weasley and be recognisable that way, or they'll inherit Harry's looks and...well,_ that'll_ be tough for the kid. The Quaffle won't have that problem."

"Hopefully she won't," agreed Angelina.

"He."

"She."

"He—alright fine. _It._"

"You can't call our baby an 'it'!"

"And yet you see no harm in calling it a Quaffle," George pointed out.

"Well, we haven't discussed names yet," Angelina said fairly. She felt George shift uncomfortably on the bed next to her. "What? What is it you're not telling me?" She poked him with her forefinger. "Huh? Huh?"

"I've been thinking about names," he muttered eventually, giving into her prodding.

"Why does that sound like a confession on a level with 'I may have tried out the potion by slipping it in Ron's tea'?"

"That was _one time_!"

"Stop avoiding the question!"

"Alright fine! I've been thinking about names, and I thought...if it's a boy, Fred. And if it's a girl, Roxanne," he said. Angelina was silent for a long moment. "I mean, if you think that's too morbid, naming the kid after our dead siblings, that's fine, but I—"

"No," Angelina said.

"I mean, that's totally okay. We can borrow Percy's baby names book and go back to the drawing board, so to speak, but—"

"No as in, 'no that's not too morbid', I meant," Angelina said. "I'd...um...been thinking something similar myself. And I don't think it's morbid. I think it's a nice way to...is there a non-pretentious way to say 'honour someone's memory'?"

"Definitely not. Embrace the pretention."

"Okay, fine. But I think that Fred and Roxanne had such an impact on our lives that it would almost be stupid not to acknowledge that in some way," she said. "So, basically, I agree. Ow."

"What's wrong?!" George asked, sitting up.

Angelina rubbed her stomach. "The Quaffle suddenly decided to move and kicked my innards a bit too hard. It's all good."

He visibly relaxed. "Hey, maybe that means she likes the idea?"

"She?"

"Well, you seem pretty confident. And you're generally right."

"Yeah I am," Angelina said, and George grinned sleepily. "Oi, wake up!" she giggled, poking him again as he started to lie down. "You have to cook my dinner now!"

"Honestly, woman! Some of us have been on our feet all day earning a living through hard graft, whilst others of us have been lounging around in bed all day like—what's this?" He pulled a sheaf of parchment out from under the pillow, and Angelina's laughter immediately stopped.

"It's mine!" she said, making a grab for it. George immediately leapt out of bed and ran with it over to the window.

"Oh, now who are you writing naughty letters to that you don't want me to see?"

"George Weasley, you give that back right now or I swear I'll—"

"The Quidditch League? What?"

Angelina sighed, and George made his way back over to the bed. "I applied for a job," she admitted.

"A job? What a dirty and disgusting thing to do!"

"I've decided not to go back to the Falcons," Angelina said, ploughing on regardless. "It's already been seven months since I played professionally, and it's going to be at least another year _minimum_ until I can again. And there'll be so many new players and I'll be out of practise and...it's just not going to happen. But I wanted to keep doing stuff related to Quidditch, because I love it too much to stop."

"Coaching?" asked George.

"Kind of," said Angelina. "The Quidditch League run courses for kids, to get them into the game, and they do a lot of work with disadvantaged kids, or kids whose parents can't afford to buy them brooms and balls or whatever. And they're always looking for people to help them out, so...I wrote to them."

"And?"

"And whilst I'm still pregnant and the baby's small, I'll help out with the paperwork side of things a couple days a week. But later, I'm going to do coaching and training and stuff with them. What do you think?" she looked at him.

"I think," George said, walking over to the bed. "That's amazing. _You're_ amazing."

Angelina smiled. "I try," she said softly. "Roxy and I never had anywhere to play Quidditch when we were little; we lived in that flat with Dad and a bunch of Muggles because it was cheap, so there was no way we could take our brooms out into that tiny garden or whatever. So it'd be nice to help kids like us."

"You'll do an incredible job," George said, squeezing her hand. "I mean, as long as you don't treat them like you treated us when we were in seventh years. You were _evil_."

"Pah," said Angelina. "I'd like to see you coach the two worst pranksters in the school and not be evil! I had to be to contend with you two terrors!"

"Why, Ange, that's the nicest thing you've _ever_ said to me!"

"You're welcome. Can you make dinner now?" She made pleading eyes and he laughed.

"I swear, you're like Ron in fifth year with food at the moment..."

"It's because I'm," she leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially, "_pregnant_."

"Is that it? I thought you were just fat!"

"_George Weasley_!"

x

Several days later, Angelina awoke one morning to find a package on the pillow beside her, with a folded over piece of parchment on the front of which her name was written in George's writing.

_I didn't want to wake you—I know the Quaffle had you up every hour last night, so I thought you could do with some sleep. Just wanted to let you know that Mum is stopping by later to check on you. Fair warning, I think she's bringing some knitting for you, so you can help with the Christmas jumpers. And you were worried about not being accepted as a Weasley, honestly!_

_Love, George_

_PS If you were still worried about the kid not being a "proper" Weasley...I got you a present._

She placed the letter down and tore open the package. Out fell a small box containing a bottle of red hair dye. "_An answer to all life's problems_," George had scrawled on the back. "_Ginger hair! You should try it_!"

And then, in even tinier writing squeezed into the bottom corner, "_Please don't. I love your hair. I hope the Quaffle gets it_."

Angelina smiled, and wiped at her eyes. "Stupid hormones," she muttered to no one in particular. She opened the box, emptied it, and threw the dye in the bin. But the box itself she kept, placing it on her bedside table next to a photo of the two of them.

* * *

_I have some more George/Angelina stuff on the way (some not as happy...) so stay tuned if you want that. I just wanted to get this up for hpshipweeks, which is still ongoing over on tumblr! Also, if you're someone who follows Facets of Life...try not to die of shock here, but I'm aiming to post the final chapter before Christmas. I know, I'm amazed too. _

_Disclaimer: alas, earwax. _


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